Bladesinger nodded slow. In the weeks leading up to their departure from Crow’s Nest, their training with Furian had improved no end, and in the long sessions beneath the burning suns, the trio had reached a kind of synchronicity. Moving as one, they’d begun to best Arkades regularly. Mia’s speed. Furian’s brawn. Bladesinger the bridge between. Though the Unfallen was kept apart from them in his champion’s cell, as was tradition before the match, they were as close to a team as they would ever be.
“We have a chance,” Bladesinger admitted.
Truth told, they had more than one. Ashlinn had arrived in Whitekeep a week before the gladiatii of the Remus Collegium, and had been skulking about the arena ever since. Passing messages through Eclipse, she’d told Mia exactly how the editorii planned to spice up the spectacle of the clash between the champions of the Leonides and Remus Collegia. But moreover, Ash had arranged a special gift to tip the scales further in their favor.
Mia closed her eyes, listened to the sound of the distant ocean.* Godsgrave was just across the water—if she climbed the city walls, she’d be able to see it from here. She was just one step away from the magni.
One match away from revenge.
Trumpets sounded, the crowd roaring in response. The stone beneath her feet trembled, the great mekwerk apparatus beneath the arena floor churning. Mia looked out through the bars, saw the center of the sands split apart, an oblong island rising in the heart of the arena. Almost forty crucifixes were lined up in a neat row along the island’s length, convicted prisoners lashed tight to the crossbeams.
“It’s starting,” Mia said.
Bladesinger joined her by the bars, Wavewaker beside her. She glanced at Sidonius as he muscled up next to her. They’d not spoken about the revelation of her parentage since the nevernight they’d fought in their cell—Sid seemed a man content to wait until Mia approached him, to talk when she was ready. But she noted he never strayed far from her anymore. Sitting next to her at meals, training nearby, never more than a few feet away. As if he felt protective of her now. As if the news she was the daughter of Darius Corvere—
“Citizens of Itreya!” came the editorii’s booming call. “We present to you, the equillai race of this, the Whitekeep venatus!”
The crowd roared in answer, waves rippling across the mob. The Whitekeep arena wasn’t quite the size of its sister in Godsgrave, but Mia reckoned there were at least seventy thousand people in the stands. The clamor of them, the heat, the pulsing rhythm of their chants swept her up, back to the sands of Stormwatch as she prowled up and down the retchwyrm’s corpse.
“What is my name?” she screamed.
“CrowCrowCrowCrowCrow!”
“WHAT IS MY NAME?”
They knew it now, sure and true. Word of her victory had spread across the Republic; Ashlinn had heard pundits telling tales in a taverna just two nevernights ago. “The Bloody Beauty,” they called her. “The Savior of Stormwatch.”
She looked in the direction of Godsgrave. Listening to the sound of the ocean above the crowd’s clamor.
Soon, all will know my name.
She clenched her fists.
My real name …
“And now, our equillai!” the editorii called. “From the Wolves of Tacitus, the Colossi of Carrion Hall, Alfr and Baldr!”
Two huge Vaanian men rode out from the rising portcullis at the southern end of the arena. They stood astride a chariot embossed with snarling wolves, the wings on their helms and the blond of their beards gleaming in the sunslight as they raised their hands to the cheering crowd.
“From the Swords of Phillipi! Victors of Talia, the Ninth Itreyan Wonders, Maxus and Agrippina!”*
A second chariot rode out after the first, drawn by chestnut stallions. The equillai were mixed sex like Bryn and Byern, but by the bow in his hand, the male looked to be the flagellae of the pair. In an impressive acrobatic display, he stood astride the horses, arms spread wide, whipping up the crowd.
“From the Falcons of Remus Collegium…!”
“Here we go,” Sidonius breathed.
“… the twin terrors of Vaan, Bryn and Byern!”
The siblings burst forth on their chariot, hooves thundering on the packed dirt. Not to be outdone by the Phillipi’s flagellae, Bryn was astride Rose’s and Briar’s backs in a handstand, her bow in her toes. She loosed her arrow into the air, the shaft falling to earth and piercing the track right at the finish line.
Mia and her fellows whooped as Bryn and Byern’s chariot swooped past their cell. Byern flashed them a winning grin, Bryn blowing a kiss as they passed, Wavewaker reaching out as if to snatch it from the air.
“Trelene ride with you, my friends!” he bellowed. “Ride!”
“And now, from the Lions of Leonides, Victors of Stormwatch and Blackbridge, the Titans of the Track, your beloved … Stonekiller and Armando!”
The equillai charged forward onto the track to deafening applause, smiles wide. Their hands were joined, held aloft. They wore golden armor, their shoulders draped with the pelts of mighty lions. Armando reached into the quiver at his side and began firing arrows into the air. Through some arkemy, the arrows exploded into confetti and ribbon, falling in rainbow-colored showers among the delighted audience.
Rhythmic chanting filled the stands as the equillai took up their positions, each at an opposite point of the oblong. Mia watched Bryn and Byern with no fear in her heart, but she knew their odds were long. With Leona fielding no one from her stable in the Ultima, even if the twins won, the Falcons would still be one laurel short of a berth at the magni—only Mia’s feature match with the silkling could guarantee them a place now. Bryn and Byern were competing simply for the purse, and perhaps for their own glory. But it was a great deal to risk for a handful of coin and some pride.
Mia wasn’t the only one who knew the odds. Bladesinger stood beside her, tense as steel. Wavewaker was gripping the bars tight, Sidonius holding his breath. Mia recalled Bryn and Byern’s words to her back at the Nest. The saying from their homeland they’d shared.
“In every breath, hope abides.”
She reached out, squeezed Sidonius’s hand.
“Keep breathing,” she whispered.
“Equillai…,” came the editorii’s call. “Begin!”
The crack of reins. The percussion of hooves. Mia grit her teeth as the race began, each of the teams building up a swift head of speed. As the chariots roared around the track, gaining speed, the archers released shot after shot at the helpless prisoners, trying to kill as many as possible in order to rack up points. The crowd bellowed, the condemned screamed, scarlet painted the sands.
Editorii stood in the crowd with spyglasses, marking the different colored feathers from each team and noting who scored the kill shots. Two tally boards stood in the west and eastern stands, spry children marking each team’s total by slotting stones into divots in the board. Sidonius pointed to the score.